


Painting

by mitsukai613



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-04-21 01:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4808906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitsukai613/pseuds/mitsukai613
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After seeing Ezio flirting with a Papal Guard in a small tavern Leonardo has been tasked to paint, Leonardo is forced to acknowledge the feelings he has for his friend. First, though he has to figure out why in the world Ezio was there, and what possessed him to act as he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, sorry for another skipped chapter of Learning; I promise I'll try to get things together soon, but as it stands, I found this and the other thing I'm posting tonight in an old notebook I'd honestly forgotten about, so hopefully they'll be good enough while I try desperately to get a full Learning chapter together next week! Anyway, don't expect this to be finished any time soon, but I hope you enjoy it thus far nonetheless!

                Ezio did not like drinking. Of all the strange little things I knew about him, that had always struck me as one of the strangest, but I had never doubted the truth of it. I’d discovered that fact on one exceptionally average evening, when he’d come by only for a friendly visit, no codex pages or damaged weapons in sight. I’d offered him a glass of wine and he’d refused it, proceeding to tell me of the embarrassingly low tolerance for alcohol that ran on his father’s side the family. Apparently his mother could drink with the best of them, a trait which she’d passed to both his brother and sister, whilst he, in his own words, was knocked on his ass by not much more than one drink.

                He’d smiled when he said it, and then recalled the first and only time he and his brother had broken into their father’s liquor cabinet, wherein his perfectly sober brother had managed to get him to do all manner of foolish things after he’d downed a single drink. From that point on, he said, he didn’t touch the stuff unless it was absolutely necessary, and even then he generally only took a few sips and hoped everyone he was with was getting too drunk to notice. Though I expected he often kept things from me if he felt them too dangerous, I knew well enough that he had no reason to lie about something like that, which I knew he likely saw as being faintly shameful. That, of course, was why it was such a large shock to me to find him sitting in a bar, of all places, not even wearing his Assassin’s robes.

                What was perhaps more of a shock, however, was the man with whom he sat. He was a younger man, perhaps even a few years younger than Ezio himself, with dark, close-cut hair and wide, equally dark eyes. Still, he sat stiffly, and he dressed in the heavy, ornate armor I knew could belong only to a Papal guard, though I imagined that he had been promoted to the post relatively recently. There was a lingering awkwardness to him despite his size, the sort that suggested he wasn’t used to the weight of the armor he wore, but even still I knew he was deadly, especially given that Ezio was not wearing his armor.

                I wondered how he’d managed to end up where he was, mostly, how he could’ve possibly gotten caught up in a conversation with a Papal guard, of all people, but then again, Ezio was nothing if not charismatic. He drew people to him, both with his rather striking looks and his friendly, open demeanor, especially when he was free of the weight of his robes. At least, I supposed, he didn’t look nervous, or as if he wished to escape, but I knew well enough how skilled of an actor he could be. Still, if it was important, or perhaps a part of a job, I did not want to ruin it, and so, I stayed back, just out of sight but close enough that I could still vaguely hear what was being said.

                “It is almost impossible to believe, finally having a break from hunting the assassino. It is as if I’ve done nothing else since I was promoted to Papal guard,” he mumbled, shaking his head, and Ezio grinned, a mischievous twinkle lighting his eyes. It always had amused him, how none ever suspected that he was the man beneath the assassin’s hood. For myself, I simply found it astounding that no one was able to connect them by way of the strange gold of his eyes, but then I supposed that most who got close enough to see his eyes when he wore that robe did not live to tell of it.

                “I am sure. Still, I have not heard much of him for a while,” He answered, wide, foolish smile stretching his lips and making the scar shine.

                “By now I think the Borgia are so obsessed that we would be hunting him even if he were proven dead.” The ease with which Ezio could play the role of a harmless playboy sometimes astounded me. Mostly I suppose it was simply strange to think of him being able to lie so fluidly when with me it always seemed like a heavy, simple to spot sort of thing. In a way it made me wonder if he did that purposefully, and I suppose it should’ve made me think that perhaps he only did that so I wouldn’t be suspicious if he ever wished to lie about something important, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to ever imagine that. Perhaps I trusted him too much, but I couldn’t envision that trust ever fading.

                “I would not have expected one in your position to sound bothered by that,” he said, light, and the guard shrugged as best he could in the heavy armor, looking almost embarrassed, as if worried that Ezio would have preferred him to say the opposite.

                “Most aren’t, though I think some is for show. They think that the people, the ladies especially, admire it when they call out all the bloody things they will do when they catch the assassin, but to speak frankly, it seems foolish to me. I do not support the assassin’s methods, but he seems to have a sense of… honor, I suppose is the word for it. He does not kill civilians, and they’ve noticed that. Many no longer even flinch when they see him, instead only getting out of the way so that he can fight whoever he wishes to and leave, as he always does. I’ve always felt that my loyalty was to them first, and if he does not trouble them… I suppose I simply think that there are better things to worry over.” Ezio’s smile softened, nodding and leaning back in his chair slightly, posture turning truly relaxed.

                “I understand that,” he said, and the guard looked relieved, as if he’d passed some sort of test.

                “I am glad. In any case, I do not think that we would ever catch him anyway; he is a skilled fighter, if one who does not always fight fairly. I at least know that I lost soundly on the one occasion I fought him.” Ezio schooled his features into surprise, but in that at least I could see the traces of falseness; he remembered fighting this man, and letting him live, which in itself shocked me. When someone did something worthy of meeting Ezio’s blade, he did not generally let them walk away.

                “Truly? I do not think I’ve ever met anyone who has fought him.” The guard nodded, not looking particularly proud as I would’ve expected had he been lying.

                “I expect that is because most of them are dead. Even now I’m not certain why he let me live. He didn’t speak, you understand, and I saw so little of his face that I couldn’t hope to know him if I saw him again. I do not think that I’ve ever been so confounded by a hood.” Ezio did laugh at that, nodding and accepting it easily when the guard leaned closer to him. His posture stayed open and friendly, and he let his eyes go a little hooded. The guard leaned a little closer still, taking another quick sip of his drink before he pushed it away. I stiffened; I’d seen Ezio this way before, more than once, and more often than not it led to a lady being led to wherever he was staying that night and emerging the next morning distinctly pleased. An old, burning jealousy in me that I did not often admit to livened at the look.

                “Ah, but I am sure it is an interesting story nonetheless, yes? Perhaps you could tell me more of it.” He reached out, let his fingertips play over the guard’s hand, soft and quick before he pulled away again. Even at a distance I saw the guard shudder and flush, eyes cast down to one side.

                “I could, but it is not an impressive tale. I might begin to think that you are more interested in the assassin than I,” he murmured, and Ezio only chuckled, shaking his head.

                “How could I be? I have never even seen the assassin. Perhaps he is an ass, or perhaps he is ugly. You, on the other hand, are here before me, and certainly neither of those things.” Another shudder, his eyes flickering almost nervously around the bar. He opened his mouth; I was nearly certain that he was about to suggest that they leave, and I could not stand the idea of it, the idea that Ezio would almost assuredly agree to go. I was by their table almost before I even noticed myself beginning to walk.

                Ezio offered me a wide smile as soon as he saw me, and his companion, seemed suddenly confused and maybe almost a little hurt when he saw how easily his attention drifted. For myself, I only felt a sharp moment of deep, visceral pleasure I refused to name, glad of the knowledge that I could draw his gaze with such ease even after the situation I’d witnessed. That, at least, let me know that he was no more serious about him than any of the women he’d allowed to share his bed.  

                “Leonardo! Come, come, sit with us,” he said, edging his chair over some to give me room, and the man nearly gaped, annoyance slowly replacing the confusion and the sadness on his face as I took the offer, a smile of my own faintly tilting my lips up.

                “Hello, amico mio. Strange to see you here,” I said, and he laughed, bright golden eyes shining with mirth.

                “And stranger still to see you. This does not seem your sort of haunt,” he responded, and I shrugged slightly.

                “Ah, but it is the preferred haunt of a very well paying client. He commissioned a painting of the place from me, and I am… admittedly a bit behind.” He offered me a look that assured me how clearly he knew that “a bit behind” almost surely meant something closer to “it must be done by this time next week and I have yet to even make a sketch.” He knew me as well as I knew him, after all. He nodded, tilting his head back to the guard and waving a hand towards me.

                “Anthony, this is a very good friend of mine, Leonardo da Vinci. I am sure that you have heard of him, given your line of work,” he said, eyes still glittering.

                “I have,” he said, sounding as if he wished precisely the opposite. “I would not have thought that you would find yourself drawn to such company.” His eyes were dark, when they looked at me, very dark, and I wondered for a moment what, precisely, he meant, before Ezio’s smile softened.

                “Whatever you may have heard, I swear to you that Leonardo would not willingly hurt a fly; he will not even eat meat, he is so soft hearted.” The guard didn’t look convinced, but nodded nonetheless, tipping his own drink to his lips and downing a large gulp of it. Ezio raised his own glass and pretended to sip. I don’t think the guard noticed that he never swallowed.

                “Perhaps. Still, I find that somewhat hard to believe of a man who creates machines for war. I have heard that the assassin has been targeting them rather… aptly, however. Ah, and how is it you met, by the way? As I said, I’d have thought your circles would not intersect.” I frowned but didn’t comment, instead only raising a hand to call someone to bring me a drink of my own. Ezio inclined his head towards me lightly and paid for my drink when it arrived, almost certainly slipping a little extra into the hand of the lady, who I vaguely recalled seeing near his sister or his mother at one point or another.

                “I said that he would not hurt another willingly, not that his intelligence has not been used for cruel things by cruel people. In any case, I met him when I was perhaps seventeen; I found myself suddenly in need of work and he allowed me to serve as his assistant for a time, though my skill at painting was abysmal and never got any better. He had been my best friend since then,” he said, flashing me a bright grin, and I did my best to return the expression despite the ache in my chest.

                I recalled more than once him striding stormily into my workshop, unwilling to tell me what was wrong, but I knew the reason for it well enough even if I’d learned it accidentally through an overheard conversation between Ezio and La Volpe about me. He’d been worried because some of his comrades thought that I had betrayed them, that I was nothing more than a Templar spy who’d finally shown his true colors, and they wished me to be dealt with.

                He’d told them that they were wrong, of course, had forbid them from acting, but he was still nervous that some would take it into their own hands and come after me, willing to face the consequences since they thought that it would be for the greater good. He’d asked La Volpe to have some of his thieves look after me from a distance, and to help convince the younger assassins that I was yet on their side even if I was not a part of the order myself. I’d never let on that I’d heard them that day, mumbling to one another in the back of my workshop. He never mentioned it to me, almost certainly unwilling to frighten me. In a way, I half-wished it was different, that he was not so determined to protect me, that for once he would let me protect him instead.

                “I suppose I do not know him well enough to say for myself. I am surprised that he kept you as an assistant rather than a model, however; one would think that any painter would imagine you a blessing!” He grinned, hand settling lightly on Ezio’s leg, brows raised. Ezio laughed, loud and a little false, head thrown back to show off the long, lean line of his neck.

                “Oh, I am in the background of a painting or three, though only because he knows my face and it is convenient to use when he needs someone anonymous for a public place.” The guard let his grin tighten into a smirk, teasing and yet lusty. I could’ve hit him, then, hopefully hard enough to knock the look from his face. The urge only worsened when Ezio responded in kind. 

                “Only that? Were I a painter, I would certainly take advantage of your presence and paint you constantly. I imagine that you would make a fine angel,” he said, leaning a bit closer, and Ezio only chuckled, not protesting, apparently uncaring that I yet sat right beside him.

                “A devil, more like,” he said, teasing glint shining bright in his eyes.

                “Oh? I am not sure that I believe you. Surely no devil could be blessed with a face like yours.” Ezio let his hand settle atop the guard’s, fingertips quick and light, obviously not unwilling to accept the advances, and yet it still bothered me, lighting an old fire in my blood I’d long sought to deny.

                “They say that the best devils are those that can tempt the righteous to sin.”

                “Ah, but do you only tempt, or do you fulfill your wicked promises?” Another laugh, and Ezio let his voice go low and rough, his eyes darkening and his full lips parting.

                “Who knows? Perhaps we should leave and we shall both find that answer.” I never imagined that a man could gain his feet as quickly as the guard did then, nearly dragging Ezio from the tavern the moment the words were uttered. Again, though, I found myself unable to stand it and uncaring if Ezio had a reason for his seduction.

                “Wait, amico mio, just a moment! I am sorry to interrupt, but I’m afraid I need you this evening. There have been a few rather unwholesome looking men lingering around my workshop in recent days, and I fear they plan to rob me; I had hoped that your presence might dissuade them.” It wasn’t a very good lie, I knew that, but Ezio believed me without a second thought, and I could only bring myself to feel a little guilty about that.

                “Of course, Leonardo. You’ve done so much for me that a night is nothing. Apologies, Anthony; perhaps you would not mind meeting me here again tomorrow evening?” The guard’s rage was almost palpable, but he agreed even still and left alone with little more than a lingering hand upon Ezio’s shoulder. “Did you wish to return to your home now, or are we waiting a while?”

                “I had hoped to create at least a sketch of this place before I left.” He smiled, soft and fond, and nodded, settling beside me again and watching my hand move over the paper. I sketched a vague outline of the tavern first, placed the tables and the chairs and the pillars, and then came loose sketches of the people, women bouncing around with trays of drinks, drunks laughing loudly at the tables, the owner behind the bar gazing over all of them. It was simple work, something I could’ve done with an eye closed, but welcome for that.

                I knew the moment I’d drawn enough; I’d started fleshing out the most basic of facial features on all the patrons I’d chosen to draw, and I was certain that I could fill in the remaining blanks with ease in a later, more in-depth sketch. I nodded to myself, tucking the page I’d been drawing on beneath my arm, and stood, Ezio following just behind me every step of the way.    


	2. Chapter 2

                Ezio looked around for lurkers that simply didn’t exist the entirety of the way back to my workshop, and I tried to ignore the guilt gnawing my heart. Chances were he wouldn’t even be particularly angry even if he knew the truth—he’d done similar things himself before, after all, I knew that, when he thought someone he cared about was in danger. I still chose to keep silent about my little lie, though, even as we reached the workshop without a sign of anyone unsavory.

                He followed me inside without even a curious look and closed the door tightly behind himself, settling in a soft chair he’d as good as claimed over the months we’d known one another while I went to my workbench and propped up the sketch so I could reference it while I began a more detailed drawing. He watched me steadily and I found myself working mainly by muscle memory though I knew the sketch would suffer for it. I wasn’t particularly interested in the commission itself anyway, after all, and I was not particularly fond of the man who had commissioned it. Honestly, were it not for the fact that turning away patrons would tarnish my reputation I probably wouldn’t have even taken the request.

                “Ezio?” I finally asked, twisting to look at him, and he hummed quietly, tilting his head towards me slightly. The guard certainly hadn’t been lying when he said that Ezio was a fine model. I hadn’t seen him without his robes in what felt like years, and he looked like a different man, young and playful and kind. I had only a scarce few sketches of him smiling simply because it was such a rare sight to catch, and none of him without his robes beyond the one I’d tried from memory which had turned out exceptionally poorly. “Would you be willing to sit for a painting tonight? I have another commission, you see, one of the saints, and you would be a nice reference for it if you didn’t mind too terribly.” Another lie, and this one I didn’t even have a reason to tell. He laughed.

                “Why would that trouble me? Of course, amico mio. How do you want me?” he asked, light, and I felt my face warm slightly as I cleared my throat.

                “The stool over there, if you please. Try to relax as best you can; you need not even change, since your shirt is loose enough that it will fall enough like a robe for me to manage. Will you be able to remain still for long enough?” He raised an eyebrow as he stood and settled on the stool I’d indicated, smiling faintly as he made himself comfortable on it.

                “Leonardo, my living is made in stillness.” True enough. I nodded at him, offering a small smile, and fetched a canvas to settle on the easel facing the stool, starting with a light, careful sketch. His face was soft and open, warmth obvious in the deep golden amber of his eyes. He was at peace, it seemed—I wished he had the opportunity to look that way more often. It was still strange to recall his age.

                “If only that were not necessary,” I said, soft, and watched an old sadness bleed into his expression, his eyes moving down, mouth tightening, jaw clenching.

                “I know, but it is. I cannot… if I do not fight, then they will take everything and everyone else that I still have to protect, however little remains. I’ve already failed to save my father and my brothers, my uncle, Monteriggioni… I will not fail to save anyone else.” His voice got lower as he spoke and I could tell that he was fighting back tears. He never had time to grieve, always forced to move on and face the next great fight so that perhaps he would not have to grieve again.

                “I know why you fight, Ezio, but it… it is too much for you to bear alone. You know that you can talk to me, don’t you? Whenever you feel the need.” His smile returned, however faintly, and though he didn’t nod because he saw my hand yet moving over the canvas I could still see the acceptance and something like gratitude in his face.

                I sketched him quietly for a while, watching the rise and fall of his breath and the play of the candlelight with his eyes. His hair was falling from the red ribbon that held it back, and a few strands hung in loose waves around his face. He seemed almost entranced, perhaps lost in the sound of scraping as I sketched, as some claimed to be when they sat for me. He actually jolted a bit when I spoke again.

                “I am sorry, by the way, if I interrupted anything important at the tavern tonight,” I said, keeping my voice as light as I could, and he chuckled, trying his best to return exactly to the position he’d been in. He wasn’t entirely successful, but it was easily close enough for me to manage, given how far along I’d gotten. It really was strange, I thought, how much faster I was with works I actually wished to do.

                “Don’t worry over it. I’m sure you were more than a little curious as to how I managed to end up in that position, after all. I don’t blame you for thinking that something was wrong.” I raised an eyebrow, leaning partly from behind the canvas so he could see, and tried not to let on how quickly my heart was beating. He laughed, then, instead of chuckling. “I am not stupid, amico mio. There was no one near your workshop, unsavory or otherwise. I say again that I understand—I’m not upset.” I sighed, laughing, feeling breathless.

                “You know me too well, Ezio. I am curious, however; could you tell me what was actually happening.” His lips twitched.

                “It’s no secret, really. You know about the… other sight I have, yes?” I did; he’d mentioned it to me before, the strange way he saw someone’s intentions with only a glance, thinking that perhaps I would have some idea as to why he could do it. I, obviously, did not.

                “You’ve mentioned it, yes.” He nodded.

                “That guard I was with, I fought him once, maybe a month ago. I was running from some other guards who had caught me on the rooftops, near one of the Borgia towers where they watch for me more seriously, and he joined the fray. Eventually I had no choice but to fight, but there were many civilians near, and so I used that sight so it would be simpler to avoid hurting one of them accidentally. That guard… he glowed blue in my eyes. I spared him and fled, but I was curious, so I followed him when I could and saw that he had a fondness for men, and that some looked somewhat similar to me. I came to that tavern because I knew he frequented it and struck up a conversation with him, which you saw. I wish to know why he glows blue, and perhaps to convert him to the order. We need more people on the inside, after all, and he is already a Papal Guard.” He said it so easily, like it was nothing, and I felt myself frown and heard myself speak before I really thought of what ought to be said.

                “You would have slept with him only for that?” I asked, and he snorted.

                “He is not already an Assassin, and all he has heard is that we are the ones in the wrong. Ally or not, he must trust me before he knows who I am and I ask that he join me. I had thought that that might be a simple enough way to begin establishing that trust.” My cheeks ached with my frown, and I was glad of the canvas to hide my face. I hadn’t sketched a new line since he started speaking. The same jealousy I’d felt in the tavern squeezed my heart, and I found myself not caring if the man was an ally or not, not caring if he would be the most valuable piece on the Assassins’ board, not caring if he was integral to finishing Ezio’s quest at last. I disliked myself some for that, I can admit, but it did not stop the feeling. Ezio was far more important to me than his mission, after all, and that realization burned a little. I had not realized it, but slowly, so slowly and under the ever-soft hand of friendship, I had begun falling in love with him. I could have screamed my frustration to the sky if I had the words, and I stood, throwing a sheet over the canvas.

                “Let’s be done for the night, my friend—my hand has begun to ache.” He tilted his head again, confusion vibrant on his face, and he stood slowly, reaching out and settling a heavy hand on my shoulder.

                “Have I said something to upset you? If I have, I am sorry; I would never offend you purposefully. You are the best friend I have, after all,” he said, squeezing my shoulder once before he pulled away, and I forced a smile.

                “No, no. I was only thinking. Perhaps… if he discovers you’re doing what you are only to turn him to your side, he will not be so willing to listen. Befriend him instead, make him like you as a person rather than a lover only, and then perhaps it will be simpler to get him to your side, and you will not have to do something you do not entirely wish to do.” He looked surprised for a moment, then held his head, laughing to himself more than to me.

                “I am an idiot,” he said, “I should have visited you first. Given how I acted tonight, though, I see few ways in which I can make him think I only wish to be friends.” I shrugged.

                “Say that you have thought about it more and want to get to know him rather than jumping into bed. If he does not listen to that, I imagine he would not make a very good ally anyway.” He hugged me, then, tight and firm, head light on my shoulder, and it took me a few moments to return it—after all, it was rare that he was the one to initiate such a gesture. Normally I relished in it when he did (and how could I have been so foolish as to not notice what I was beginning to feel?) but that night I only felt cold.

                Ezio was willing to go to bed with a man, was willing to be with one. He had simply never been interested in me and likely never would be. His friendship was enough, though, I could deal with friendship only. Perhaps I would have to—if Ezio got to know that guard, after all, perhaps he would like him. Perhaps they would be together instead, and I would have no choice but to stand aside and wish him happiness. I squeezed him tightly and did not want to let go when he made to pull away, but I’d already acted a bit strangely that night and I saw no need to make it worse.

                “Thank you, Leonardo. I am glad to have someone like you to rely on. Tell me, would you mind too terribly if I made use of your workshop to sleep tonight? And tomorrow we can go to the market, if there is time—I was paid recently for some of the restoration I’ve done on the city, and I saw a very nice artist’s model there recently that I thought you might be fond of.” I had neither the heart nor the will to refuse him either request.

                “Certainly, Ezio; you know that my home is always open to you, especially when I am the one to bring you to it. And I’ve not been able to go out for anything more than necessities in a while; I look forward to it.” He grinned, making his way to my lounge and stretching across it. I settled at my workbench again, fiddling with my papers and periodically managing a few lines or forms on the tavern sketch. After an hour, I gave up and stood instead, glancing over at Ezio, who seemed soundly asleep. Slowly, so slowly, I walked over to him, holding my breath for fear that it would wake him, but he remained still and calm. He would only ever be my friend, I knew that, but… I bent and stole a single, soft kiss before I whipped around and strode away, lips tingling and heart pounding. It would have to be enough; I refused to betray him more than I already had, and I refused to let him be anything but happy after all the pain he’d faced. He was my friend, my very best, and he never let me doubt that I was his. I would be content with that.    


End file.
